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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864449">all I need is something real</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExistentialMalaises/pseuds/ExistentialMalaises'>ExistentialMalaises</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mission Fic, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:09:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,385</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864449</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExistentialMalaises/pseuds/ExistentialMalaises</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Five months. That’s how long it had been since the destruction of SHIELD, the Senate Hearing at Capitol Hill, and when Natasha had last seen Steve. There had been a few phone calls where they checked in with each other’s progress—Steve’s search for the Winter Soldier, conducted together with Sam, and the establishment of new identities for Natasha—but those few phone calls were nothing like the daily grind of shared assignments and intelligence recovery.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> <b>Natasha meets up with Steve and Sam in Moscow for some R&amp;R only to get derailed by Fury.</b></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>128</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello dearest reader. I'm happily saying goodbye to 2020 with some SteveNat love. My gift to you.<br/>The title is from a lovely song: Live in This Moment - Kakou. </p><p>To yourcrookedheart, thank you for inspiring me. You've wonderful timing. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Five months. That’s how long it had been since the destruction of SHIELD, the Senate Hearing at Capitol Hill, and when Natasha had last seen Steve. There had been a few phone calls where they checked in with each other’s progress—Steve’s search for the Winter Soldier, conducted together with Sam, and the establishment of new identities for Natasha—but those few phone calls were nothing like the daily grind of shared assignments and intelligence recovery. </p><p>Natasha rarely struggled with departures. The principal directive taught to her as a Black Widow was to never trust anyone. Don’t trust. Don’t get attached. Not to partners nor objectives. Steve had been both those things to her, so against her better judgement she had broken her one rule. And now she missed him a little. He was her friend. </p><p>Not her only friend, not even her closest. But one she had grown comfortable with over the course of their two-year partnership in Washington, D.C., one she had an understanding with based entirely on trust. </p><p>During their last call, Steve revealed that inquiry into a HYDRA experiment related to his old friend would bring them to Russia. Natasha insisted on a detour to Moscow, to show him around if only for a few days, before he’d return home. He was always focused on the mission, and then the next one, not once slowing down in-between. Not unless she’d tell him to. So she did. Old habits died hard. </p><p>She’d been building multiple new identities across Europe, and she, too, could use a short break. Before the Battle of Washington, D.C. Natasha would have disagreed, but the sacrifice of her secret identities meant a new start. She could have more than duty and service. Yes, there was still red in her ledger, she would continue atoning for her past, but it needn’t be solely through secrets and silence. </p><p>There were more rules she could break, if she wanted to. </p><p>Natasha pushed away the thought when Steve opened the door to his hotel room. Five months. He hadn’t changed one bit. The corner of her mouth quirked up, unwilling to offer a full smile while his was given freely. White teeth, starry eyes, America’s golden boy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. The whisper of her shortened name rustled against her hair. One syllable. His voice heavy with emotion. He had missed her too. </p><p>Steve led her through one of the four doors in the wide hallway, into a room with a grand piano and library, finally stopping in a sitting room with a fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling windows, ivory-colored furnishings and golden details dominated the spaces. She sat down on the sofa that gave her a beautiful view of the snow-covered peaks of the Kremlin. “Tony really signed off on a 2-bedroom penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, huh.” </p><p>He chuckled, and sat down next to her, their knees pointing to each other. “Not exactly my style, but definitely a perk of the job.” </p><p>“Sam picked then?” Natasha smirked when Steve nodded. “Guess I should return to Stark tower soon.” </p><p>“Actually, Tony renamed it the Avengers tower.” </p><p>“Of course he did. He’s being a team player.” </p><p>“He’s trying. The tower is big so it’s been pretty calm.” His lashes fluttered up and down before he fixed his gaze on her. “There’s room for you too.” </p><p>Natasha simpered, and pressed her elbow into the couch, resting her head on the palm of her hand as she waited for Steve’s smile to blossom again. She couldn’t wait to show him around Moscow. Her relationship with Russia was complicated, as much as her country had built her it had also destroyed her. But there was beauty everywhere: in the architecture, in the wintry landscape, in the durable hearts of ordinary people. She never knew her parents, but they could’ve been any of the kind faces on the streets. Their Russian spirit, the inheritance she cherished. </p><p>Sam knocked on the door to the living room and swooped towards the sofas with arms wide open. “Natasha!” She rose to her feet, and gave him a quick hug. “There’s a piano. Did you see? Do you play?” </p><p>She shook her head, and shifted her eyes to the fireplace. Ballet classes to piano recitals had been a constant in her youth. She had made a career out of it as a Russian ballerina, or so she had first believed. But those images had been training of a different kind. A more lethal one. Made and unmade by the Russia she left behind. She felt the warmth of Steve’s fingers on her elbow, and glanced back at him. There was a question in his eyes. She smiled. She was fine. That was not denial. Natasha knew how to take care of herself. </p><p>“So that piano is wasted on all of us,” Sam said as he took a seat across from them, observing them carefully. </p><p>She quirked a brow, blanketing her face with neutrality so Sam’s observant eye wouldn’t see anything she didn’t want him to. “I bet this lofty place has a sound system.” </p><p>“Heck, it has a butler,” Sam grinned. </p><p>“Living large.” </p><p>“He’s making the most of it,” Steve said. </p><p>Sam stretched his arms over the head of the sofa, shifting until he was comfortable. “And who would blame me?!” </p><p>“Not me,” Natasha agreed, and leaned back against the plushy pillows. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Natasha’s presence at the penthouse, to which they had arrived only a few hours earlier, was a warm welcome. Steve had been on the road with Sam for several months now, and as much as he liked the guy, and had gotten to know him <em> much </em> better, sometimes more than he wanted to, he also missed his former partner. Three was better than two, he decided as he glanced at his two friends while they caught up on each other’s circumstances. Four would be even better, if he could pinpoint Bucky’s whereabouts. </p><p>The search was starting to feel aimless, solving puzzles and tracking down people who didn’t exist on paper in the hopes of getting closer to… anything, but they still had a number of solid cold leads before Steve would return to Captain America duties. In the meantime, Sam deserved a breather, some R&amp;R as he had put it when he had chosen this hotel. Steve thought it was a bit much, but who was he to deny Sam some R&amp;R. </p><p>He couldn’t refuse Natasha’s invitation either. He didn’t want to. She laughed at a joke Sam made, her chin high and her neck exposed, the moment earlier seemingly forgotten, changing skin like she changed her clothes. The submersion into her hidden layers was subtle, and had she never willingly let him in, he would not have recognized it now. Out of all the important people in his life, she was the hardest one to figure out. But he trusted her, after everything they had been through, the Battle of New York, the years they worked together, dismantling HYDRA together, Steve knew she was sincere with him. That was enough. </p><p>Besides, what they had in common mattered. It was hard to confront that the ideals one fought for were befouled. Natasha understood that, she had experience with that, not once but twice. Still, it never soured her. Hardened yes, which was why he leaned on her, because Natasha always did the hard thing. No matter what, even as she navigated the world through shades of gray. He respected that. </p><p>His stomach growled, and all eyes landed on him. “How about room service for tonight?” </p><p>“Yeah, I’m pretty beat,” Sam said. “Plus, we got a butler.” </p><p>Natasha raised her shoulder. “Room service it is.” </p><p>When neither of them made a move, Steve walked over to the side table and picked up a leather-bound book. He flipped through it until he found the dining options. There were several restaurants to pick from, so he offered the book to Sam and Natasha. He’d be fine with whatever. Fifteen minutes later, Sam called the butler to order their food and request an aromatic bath be filled in his room at nine PM. </p><p>The wait for their dinner lasted a bit longer than Steve would have liked, which made him consider going outside to purchase something fast, but he held out because Natasha was telling him about all the movies she had finally seen now that she had more time on her hands. More recommendations for him to write down. Though not <em> Anna Karenina</em>. She disliked that one. The book was apparently better. Conversations like these didn’t usually occur over the phone, just the bare necessities and comforting silence. He had missed this too. The ease that he felt around her. Her teasing jokes, often at his expense, her subtle smiles, her concern for him, all these little things. </p><p>A normalcy he had managed to have, together with her, when everything else reminded him that he was different. There was a museum dedicated to Captain America, full of personal and private information on him, lots of it incorrect too, but Natasha didn’t care about that. She’d just call him a fossil, help him get settled into a new apartment without an invitation, gift him a record player for a housewarming he never organized, and find ways to make him smile. She looked beyond the shield, and saw the man.</p><p>Sam did too. They’d both become lifelines to the life he was rebuilding. </p><p>After the butler set up the dining room, they all took a seat around the polished brown table, a golden light gleaming from the chandelier on top. Just as he was to dive in, the doorbell rang. </p><p>“Are you expecting anyone else?” Natasha asked. </p><p>Sam shook his head, and got up with a sigh. Muttering, he dropped his napkin on the table. “What the hell!” Steve heard him say from down the hall. When he returned, Sam wasn’t alone. “Look who showed up. Unannounced.” </p><p>His former boss, Nick Fury, stood in the dining room, wiping off flakes of melted snow from his dark fur coat. “Steve. Natasha. Good to have you in one location.”</p><p>Steve blinked. “Nick.” He glanced at Natasha, who shook her head like she had no idea about this either. He got up, and was about to speak when Sam beat him to it. </p><p>“What did you do to our butler?” </p><p>“He’s still alive.” </p><p>“Mhmm, better be. I’ve got a bath at nine.” </p><p>Steve cleared his throat. “Nick. What are you doing here?” </p><p>“Cutting right to the chase, alright, I like that.” </p><p>Sam sat down. “How—“ </p><p>“If you think I don’t keep tabs on assets,” Nick said as he took off his coat, and draped it over an unused dining chair, “then this is your notice.” </p><p>“Hey, I said I was a soldier. Not a spy,” Sam said. </p><p>“I’m going to need you to be one, nonetheless. All three of you.” Nick met Steve’s eyes, then turned to Natasha. “One more time.” </p><p>“What is it?” She asked, as if it was a normal SHIELD mission briefing, and months hadn’t passed between all of them. </p><p>“A few days ago, CIA-officer Elaine Penner went rogue after stealing a list. The CIA needs the list and rogue agent back in their custody. As a personal favor to the director, I've been asked to intervene. I want my best assets on the job.” </p><p>Steve crossed his arms. “What’s on the list?” </p><p>“Identities of CIA personnel and informants active in Russia.” Nick pulled back another chair, and sat down. “It can’t fall in the wrong hands.” </p><p>Steve didn’t move, still standing, his voice firm. “I'm not interested in meddling in underhanded business by whichever government.” </p><p>“The existence of the list doesn’t only complicate the relationship between Russia and the USA, it also endangers dozens of missions, and the lives of those involved.” </p><p>“But we’re not spies,” Sam said. </p><p>Nick nodded. “You’ve other skills that will come in hand. And Natasha can do the heavy lifting.” </p><p>“Gee, thanks, not-my-boss,” Natasha said.</p><p>“We can carry our own weight,” Sam said more to Natasha than Nick.</p><p>Nick was waiting for an answer from Steve. The muscles in his folded arms tightened. He wasn’t sure about this. He was willing to help Nick track down HYDRA agents after he followed all the cold leads on Bucky, but this was something else. This was another mission for another intelligence agency that worked in the gray, so who knew what they were truly up to. Steve didn’t know, and that was the problem. At the same time, lives were at stake. He caught Natasha’s eyes again, and she faintly bobbed her head. Before he could respond, Nick spoke up, “It’s a one-off mission. No strings. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t need to.” </p><p>“Fine. A one-off.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Comments and kudos are appreciated. Find me on <a href="https://existentialmalaises.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Four minutes away on foot from the Ritz-Carlton stood the Four Seasons, in the exact same spot as where the historical hotel Moskva stood before. Now the only reminder of its former glory was a replication of its facade. A dissonant marriage of East and West. She doubted that Sam’s choice of residence in Moscow had been free from outside interference. Planted google ads were an effective tool. </p><p>Exactly one night after their arrival, only minutes away, Moscovian high society would be attending the exclusive Yahontov Ruby Ball to raise awareness and money for terminally ill children. If there was one thing the one percenters had in common across the world, flaunting their money in the name of the needy would be the first one to come to Natasha’s mind. </p><p>Elaine Penner was expected to exchange the stolen document at the charity event with one of its politically-inclined attendants. One call by Nick to the American embassy, and their names were added to the guest list as representatives. Not Sam’s. He had the benefit of being invisible, since his face and name(s) weren’t known to the world after the destruction of SHIELD, nor was he a celebrity like Steve, so he would attend as a waiter. Much to his chagrin. The best smokescreen made no smoke, and in her and Steve’s case that meant hiding in plain sight as themselves. </p><p>Her KGB days were long behind her, and as an Avenger and supposed representative of the American embassy she could not be touched without it causing an international conflict. A calculated risk, nonetheless. </p><p>Natasha scoped the Tchaikovsky Ballroom at the Four Seasons. Towering ceilings, capturing the grandeur of the 1930s in over five thousand square feet filled with round dining tables. Enough space to host five hundred men. Spotting Elaine Penner would require some work, and that was without considering that she might’ve altered her appearance. They needed a better vantage point, somewhere elevated. </p><p>“How are you doing, Steve?” She asked him when she felt him fidgeting next to her. His finger was curled around his burgundy tie, contrasting the navy blue shade of his three-piece suit, and pulled it away from his neck. “Let me get that.” </p><p>“It feels tighter somehow.” </p><p>She smiled, brushed his hand away, and straightened his tie. “It’s not. You’re just nervous. That’s good. Keeps you alert.” </p><p>“I’m no good undercover.” As Steve looked around the room, scanning it like she had done before, his body pulled towards hers, instantly protective. After their first mission in Washington D.C., Natasha had discerned that his line of strategic thinking meant safeguarding others and drawing the threat towards himself, like a shield. Useful intel, and she used that to her advantage, but an operation like this required more finesse. </p><p>“You’re not. You’re just you, so focus and enjoy the party.” </p><p>He chuckled, and returned her gaze, his eyes softening. “Those two things are in direct opposition.” </p><p>“Well, I’d never expect you to actually enjoy a party.” She batted her lashes playfully, and he parted his lips in response. </p><p>“<em>A </em> party? In general? I’m not a bore, you know.” </p><p>“Little bit.” Natasha brought her thumb and index finger together for the visual, and Steve shook his head. When a waiter passed by him, he reached for two flutes of champagne, and handed her one. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the amusement off her face. “We both know you’re not affected by alcohol.” </p><p>“Still tastes good,” he said, and raised his glass. </p><p>She clinked her flute on his, then sipped the champagne. It was rich and smooth on her tongue, tingling gently as it went down her throat. Waiting on her response, she nodded her agreement to him. </p><p>Static came through her ear piece, Sam’s voice clear. “Are you two done flirting? Because I’m actually working the room.” </p><p>“Unlike you, Sam, I can do both,” Natasha said after another sip.</p><p>She heard him snort. </p><p>“Follow me.” She entwined her fingers with Steve, his hand warm and callused, and he stared at it for a moment before following her lead towards the stage.</p><p>Natasha continued her banter to keep the sharp look off Steve’s face, because he was too focused to blend in, their hands still locked together, then smiled widely when she led him up the stairs and glanced back at any prying eyes. Nothing yet. Sneaking behind the side of the curtain and into the catwalk—an elevated service platform to manipulate light and sound—would give her a decent vantage point, and Steve by her side gave her the perfect cover. She blinked her left eye emphatically, and activated the scanning software in her colorless contact lens to accelerate the process of finding the rogue agent. The room remained a long line of penguin suits and a sea of dark-haired heads, sparkling gold and silver to attract and impress. Still nothing. </p><p>But then, cozying up to the event organizer Irina Yahontova, stood a woman in a simple red dress—too simple for a party this extravagant. Amateur hour. Her facial features were slightly different, eyebrows thinner, lips fuller, her makeup darker, but still similar enough for the facial recognition software in Natasha’s lens to identify Elaine Penner. Gotcha. Natasha blinked again. </p><p>“Target spotted. Red dress, bad wig. Sending visuals.” </p><p>Steve tried to follow her line of sight, but the target was far away and he didn’t wear a contact lens, so she subtly pointed at her. He leaned closer, their hands rubbing against each other on the rail, his warmth prickling her skin. She held her breath, indulging the sensation. He twisted his body towards her to pull out his burner phone, looked at the image he had received, then back into the crowd. “Do we—”</p><p>“I’m finding my way,” Sam said over the comms. </p><p>“Do <em> not </em> approach her.” Natasha didn’t move, but continued to follow the rogue agent’s actions. She wouldn’t just be cozying up with tonight’s hostess, who had to be inconsequential. It had to be one of the penguin suits. She was already talking to one, the hostess long gone. Her finger tapped against the side of her thigh, perhaps a pattern, perhaps nothing of significance. “Not yet. I want to see who she’s planning to meet up with.”</p><p>“That’s not the mission,” Steve said. </p><p>She nodded. “I know, but it would be valuable information.” </p><p>“Not if we’re endangering the—”</p><p>“We won’t.”  </p><p>Steve conceded, and she kept her eyes on the target. Minutes passed, and Elaine Penner seemed to solely be enjoying the attention of men, and the gossip of women. Nothing out of the ordinary yet. </p><p>“Hey! You! What are you doing there!!” A man shouted from the other side of the catwalk. Natasha pushed her body against Steve’s, who caught her as a reflex, and she giggled loudly, pretending to be lovers caught in a thrilling moment. </p><p>“Forgive us, sir! We’re leaving,” she apologized profusely in Russian, her face flushing, and stumbled on high heels, as if intoxicated. Steve’s arms were still around her waist, seemingly carrying her when, in actuality, she dragged the both of them away from the man. </p><p>“What’s next?” Sam asked. </p><p>“We watch. Steve and I will get closer, but remain out of sight. Do the same. Only glance indirectly at her when you need a visual. Like I showed you.” </p><p>“I got it.” </p><p>Natasha steadied her gait after they left the catwalk and were out of the man’s sight. Chest forward, a slight arch in her back, hips swaying from side to side, she swung open the curtain. She made a spectacle of it. Two lovers who were up to no good. A playful lift of her shoulders when the penguin suits and glittering dresses stared at her. </p><p>“Let’s dance.” She turned to Steve, and caught the faint bloom of color on his cheeks. “She’s near the dance area.” </p><p>“Right, okay,” he said, and placed his hand on the small of her back as they walked towards the—</p><p>“Natalia Alianovna Romanova, Russia’s native and American Avenger. A last-minute attendee, so I’ve been told,” Irina Dmitrievna Yahontova said, granddaughter and heiress of steel magnate Vladimir Ivanovich Yahontov. Diamonds adorned her neck, and a mask of complacent superiority was on her face. Natasha imagined that as the inherited hostess of the gala, she made her personal assistant remember the names and titles of every one of the five hundred guests tonight. Presumably the scrawny woman behind the hostess, eyes wide on caffeine and jitters because she hadn’t slept in days. “And I see you’ve brought a date.”</p><p>Natasha beamed gratitude, her expression opening up so the hostess could continue feeling superior, and addressed her formally, per etiquette. The one percenters. “Thank <em> you </em> for the invitation, Irina Dmitrievna Yahotova. I’d like you to meet Steven Grant Rogers.”</p><p>Yahontova lifted her hand for Steve to take. He spurred to action, and shook her hand. “How quaint,” she said, both looking down on him and admiring as he stood straight. </p><p>“Rogers? Ah! Captain America!” A penguin suit took a spot next to Yahontova, presumably her husband. Though this Natasha wasn’t certain about, it didn’t matter. “We love Americans, truthfully, they like to spend money, but why is Captain America <em> here</em>?” </p><p>Steve cleared his throat. “I—”</p><p>“We’re together,” Natasha said, and Steve snapped his head towards her.  </p><p>“Together?” Yahontova raised her eyebrow, her curious eyes flitting between them. She waved for a waiter, who brought them flutes of champagne, their first ones forgotten backstage. </p><p>“We’re not labeling it.” </p><p>“How modern of him.” Yahontova smiled. “I pegged you as a more traditional man.” </p><p>Steve gaped at Natasha, who mimicked Yahontova’s smile, then took a gulp of his champagne. “I’m… adapting.” </p><p>“Interesting,” The penguin suit said gravely, lying through his teeth. </p><p>Yahontova brought her hand to her lips, amusement making its way there as she leaned closer. “But really, <em> Natalia</em>, hasn’t your mother taught you anything? With such a sturdy man, you must seal the deal before he can run off.” </p><p>Natasha laughed at the snide remark, and sipped slowly from her flute. Time for pleasantries was over. Natasha glanced at the dance floor. They couldn’t lose sight of their target. No longer demure, she turned to Steve, met his eyes—summery blue, brewing with intensity—held his attention, and said, “I’ve given him plenty of reasons to keep coming back for more.”</p><p>His lips parted, his stare unwavering, and leaned closer. “I, um—how about that dance?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As partners of years, Steve and Natasha worked many missions together. Though his trust in her was without a doubt today, that wasn’t always the case. He rarely got to see her deception skills in action, but he had heard how she had tricked Loki, God of trickery. Before that, he had read about her specific skill set in her file. When they were partnered together, he was a little wary, to say the least. Although she had earned his trust since then, he had to admit it was a little unsettling to watch her lie like that. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve believed her. Even stranger, he found himself wanting to. She made the lies between them sound compelling. To hold power over a person like that, to manipulate without them truly knowing it, Steve understood why Nick relied on her. </p><p>“That was something,” he said when they stood still on the dance floor. </p><p>“The woman thrives on making others feel small. I pity her poor assistant.” Natasha shrugged, and for a second he wondered whether the nonchalance was real before nipping that thought in the bud. Pulling that thread would only lead to a headache, and he doubted he’d be any wiser. It came down to choice. Natasha had proven her loyalty to him, so he’d choose to trust her. He’d keep it that simple. “Steve?” </p><p>“Oh, yes.” A dance to remain close to the target without appearing conspicuous. She’d explain the bigger picture of what she wanted to happen tonight without going in too many details, because the smallest change could disrupt the most complicated plans. So she led, and he followed. Except for this dance. He was supposed to do the leading. He placed a hand on her waist, his other slipping into hers. There was a bemused simper on her face, but she didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask. </p><p>“Sam, anything happen?” </p><p>“Sturdy man,” Sam said, the laughter ringing clearly in his voice. </p><p>Steve had to refrain from looking Sam’s way. “Stop.”</p><p>“I take that as a no,” Natasha said. The simper was still there. </p><p>“Target is seated. Table 281. Nothing suspicious has happened,” Sam said, and Steve swept his gaze across the room to peek at the target. Correct. Still seated, still socializing, none the wiser. </p><p>“Any sign of a document?” </p><p>“No. But give her a good spin, Steve. You’re making this hard to watch.” </p><p>Steve frowned. “Watch the target.” </p><p>“I am. Natasha wouldn’t you say Steve’s hands are prudishly high for a couple madly in love.” </p><p>“That is <em> not </em> our cover.” Steve looked at Natasha, and she patted his bicep. A comfort pat. She was trying to make him feel better. He felt fine. He just hadn’t planned on dancing with another woman. Not after…  Peggy. So he was adapting. </p><p>“Not what I heard and saw,” Sam said. </p><p>Steve cleared his throat. Fine. He slid his hand across her bare back, going down to her natural arch until she was pressed against his body. He ignored how certain parts of her felt more present than others. He ignored the contrast of her silken dress and her silken skin underneath his hand. He ignored the tips of her fingers now settled in his neck. Heat rushed there when she stared at him, calm and composed, their faces only inches apart. </p><p>He didn’t feel fine. He felt strange. This was a strange situation to be in, and it was strange for him to dance this intimately with Natasha. Strange, because he knew her body intimately, he wasn’t touching her anywhere he hadn’t touched her before, just never like this. Never with the intent of being… more than friendly. He swallowed away the dryness in his throat. </p><p>“You okay?” Her warm, minty breath brushed against his jawline. He glanced down at her, into her penetrating blue eyes, and he swallowed again. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>“Ok. Do you mind if I lay my head on your chest? It’ll give me a more natural line of sight than looking away from you or peeking over your shoulder at the target.” </p><p>His heart thudded loudly. “No problem.” </p><p>Not a second later, she tucked herself under his chin, their frames fitting together with ease. He forced himself to relax into it, giving her the reins to position herself. He couldn’t see the target anymore, so he listened to the slow song, and tried to sway to its beat. He hadn’t had much dancing practice, but the onlookers gazed at him with smiles. He smiled back. This wasn’t too bad. </p><p>Sam’s voice came through the comms. “Target is removing something from her purse.” </p><p>“Is it a brush pass? An exchange?” Natasha tensed in his arm. </p><p>“I can’t see what it is. White. Paper. Oh. She’s just wiping her nose.” </p><p>The tension disappeared from her body, but Steve stopped dancing and took a step back, their arms returning to themselves. “We’ve waited long enough. Time to move.” </p><p>“Ok. Initiate,” Natasha said. </p><p>“Alright, I’m going in.” Steve saw Sam move, undercover in a waiter uniform, a tray with one champagne glass balanced carefully on his hand. A glass filled with laxatives that would send her to the restroom. Steve followed Natasha to a high table, and turned his back to Sam so Natasha could observe the action. “Oh, shit. Some lady swiped the glass off my tray before I could offer it to the target. That woman is in for hell.” </p><p>“It’s fine. Plan B. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed his arm, and disappeared into the crowd before Steve had a chance to ask questions. The minute she did, a woman walked over to the table he was standing at.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Sam asked. </p><p>Steve shoved his hand in his pocket and pulled out his burner phone, courtesy of Nick Fury. He pressed it to his ear so he could pretend to be talking to someone while speaking over comms, and not have to engage with the unknown woman, who left looking rather deflated. </p><p>“Activating the target’s salivary glands.”  </p><p>Steve raised his eyebrows. “How?” </p><p>“A shot of hormones. She won’t even feel a thing.” </p><p>“That’s incredibly allusive,” Sam said. </p><p>“We can’t spook her.” Natasha’s voice became deeper. She was concentrating. “The target is a former Company officer. If she catches wind of anything, it would  cause a scene and turn into a chase. We want the opposite. And I’m keen on keeping this dress in one piece.” </p><p>“Whatever you say, boss,” Sam said.</p><p>“Go on silent. I need a second.” </p><p>Putting away his phone, Steve scanned the room. He couldn’t find Natasha. But his eyes widened when a young woman, another one, approached him. </p><p>“Hello. I’m Ekaterina. I know this is going to sound weird, but… are you, by any chance, Captain America?” </p><p>“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yes, that’s right.” </p><p>She beamed, and shoved a phone in his face. “Would you mind taking a picture with me?” </p><p>“A picture?” He looked at the group of ladies behind the woman, slowly flocking closer. Different scenarios raced through his mind. He didn’t love this aspect of his life, but he knew what taking on the mantle of Captain America meant for the world, so he accepted it. But he wasn’t supposed to attract attention tonight. Not like this. </p><p>“Sorry, girls. He’s mine.” Natasha walked past the group, her tight blue dress swerving along her feet until she stood still next to him. Thankful for the save, he placed a hand on the small of her back, offered her his drink, and cast an apologetic smile at the women. </p><p>When they left, she gestured to the door on their left. “Steve and I will go to the restrooms located behind the dressing room. She’ll be thirsty now. You keep plying her with drinks, no laxatives needed, and not through yourself. Use different waiters, and head to the restroom near the exit.” Natasha spoke with a low voice to Sam through the comms as they wandered to their destination. “She’ll need to relieve herself eventually. Don’t let her enter the restroom near the exit. Redirect her to us. Alert us when she’s on the move.” </p><p>“Uh. How do I do that?” </p><p>“You’re a waiter, Sam. Wait.” </p><p>“That’s going to take time.” Steve opened the door to the hallway. </p><p>“It will.” Natasha headed to the dressing room, shifting her gears, even on high heels she was swift if she wanted to be. “Enough time for you to get comfortable with what’s next.” </p><p>“I need details, Nat. I don’t like being kept in the dark.” </p><p>“I know.” </p><p>“Like I said, we need to get her to us. The further she’s away from the crowd, the easier it is for Sam to put her in the van. Once we seize her, we figure out what she did with the list. We’ll go from there.” </p><p>“I know all that. You meant something else.” </p><p>“Come on.” Natasha opened the door for him now, and waited until he entered the restroom to continue. “When Penner enters, she needs to be caught off guard but not spooked. She needs to feel uncomfortable enough to ignore us and retreat to a stall, not immediately back out the door, otherwise we can’t lock her in without making a scene.” </p><p>“Sure.” </p><p>“That means we need a distraction.” Natasha inspected the sink. When she didn’t get a response from him, she turned towards him. “One that makes people uncomfortable.” </p><p>Oh. He was referring to their… trifle when they were on the run from the Strike team and needed to remain out of Rumlow’s peripheral vision. “That again?” </p><p>Natasha pulled a few paper towels from the dispenser mounted on the wall, and wiped the sink. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “It’s the most effective way to get it done. She’ll notice our bodies in a compromising position and avoid our eyes out of embarrassment. That gives you time to walk to the door, like you’re exiting, she’ll make room for you, head down.” </p><p>“You’re certain?” </p><p>“Yes. Human behavior is predictable.” She threw the paper towels in the wastebasket, then washed her hands. “She lacks certain social skills. She wasn’t a field operative. In almost every interaction she’s had tonight, she avoided eye contact. If she looked at people’s faces it was at their forehead, to make them think she was looking in their eyes. Taught behavior. She’ll be uncomfortable. We’ll get her like that, but only if you’re good with it.” </p><p>He closed his eyes, and bobbed his head. He supposed he was committing to this, to kissing her again. Tonight couldn’t get stranger. “Alright. I trust you.” </p><p>“Sam?” Natasha asked while she neared Steve and squeezed his shoulder. </p><p>His voice came through the static in their earpieces. “She’s drinking. I’m assuming my position in front of the restroom now.” </p><p>“You know what to do after?” Steve checked. </p><p>“Get the cart for home delivery.” </p><p>“The two of us should look the part,” Natasha said to him, and lifted her hands to his head. He followed the movement carefully, standing still in front of her, unsure of what she meant and what she was doing. The corner of her mouth curved into a lopsided smile when she ran her fingers through his hair, raking them up then back and forth. Chuckling to himself, he canted towards her, giving her easier access, until she was satisfied with the mess she had created. When he looked back at her, she was all smiles. A lightness appeared in his chest. There was something young and mischievous to her, a side of hers he didn’t see often. “Always wanted to mess up your perfect hair.” </p><p>Staring at his own reflection in the mirror behind her, his hair looking worse than when he woke up after a restless night of sleep, caused an unexpected throaty laugh. This was ridiculous. “You know what, me too.” He pulled her back in his arms, and got to work, ruffling up her soft curls into a frantic mess while her shoulders shook from her titters. Then, he pushed a few locks behind her ear. “There, that’s much better.” </p><p>She shoved him, and turned to the mirror with blue eyes that sparkled. “Better? Try again.” </p><p>“Now you look less untouchable.” Steve bumped her shoulder. </p><p>Natasha spun around, and moved his hair around some more. Then she fluttered her dark lashes down to his eyes, and purred, “Because you <em> touched </em> me.” </p><p>The air between them changed. The lightness he felt earlier transformed into something more persistent with every rapid beat of his heart. Her fingers skittered down to his tie, curling around it. </p><p>“I got it.” Steve loosened the damn thing, and popped a few buttons along with it. They had to look the part, after all. When he finished, her hands moved over his vest, unbuttoning it completely. He stared at her reflection in the mirror. Small movements, but the muscles in her arms tensed and relaxed. She was wearing a dress that was cut so low it highlighted the arch of her back. Naked skin he had been touching all night, but didn’t look at. Steve shook the thoughts out of his head. This situation was entirely unprofessional. He felt pressure on his belt, and his hand shot down instinctively, wrapping it around her wrist. </p><p>His voice came out graver than he meant to. “The pants don’t come off.” </p><p>“Of course not. Your movement can’t be restricted, but it’s about the illusion. We wouldn’t just be kissing.” He released her hand, and she unbuckled his belt. </p><p>Natasha hoisted her blue dress, the split in her skirt revealing more of her thigh. “Can you sit me down on this thing? That, or you keep my dress here while I lift myself up.” He scooped her up and sat her down as requested. </p><p>They were on eye-level now, and he lowered his to her lips. Dark red. “What, uh, about your lipstick?” </p><p>“Good detail. It won’t come off.” </p><p>“Ah, ok.” </p><p>“Have you kissed anyone since our last kiss?” She rested on the palms of her hands, chest pushed forward, her exposed legs dangling near him. </p><p>“No…” His eyes dropped to her lips again. Their kiss had been brief and chaste, though entirely unexpected. But Natasha had always been a hard person to define. So, why wouldn’t her kisses be the same. Unexpected. Indefinable. Untouchable. But he had touched her. He had kissed her. “You?” </p><p>She nodded. “For a new identity, building connections is part of that.” </p><p>“What is your new identity?” </p><p>“I could tell you when we’re off comms.” </p><p>“Well, that’s boring. I’m bored,” Sam’s voice came through, and Natasha smirked. “Also, can we go back to ‘our last kiss?’ When did that happen, and why am I hearing about it now?”</p><p>Steve chuckled. “Because it’s not your business.” </p><p>“See, boring.” Sam said, and Steve would have responded, but what he heard next pulled everything into sharp focus. “Oh, excuse me, ma’am. This restroom is out of service. There’s another one behind the dressing room, just over there.” </p><p>Natasha scooted forward on the sink. “It takes a minute to get here. I timed it on my first round. You ready?” </p><p>Steve stepped between her legs, rolled back his shoulders, and nodded severely. Natasha pressed her lips together, her eyes gleaming with delight, he recognized it, because it was always there when she was teasing him. He placed a hand on her thigh, the other finding its way back to her tousled red locks. She leaned into the touch, her dark lashes fluttering momentarily closed, a small smile budding on her lips. Reddened, plump lips that he knew to be soft and warm. </p><p>The anticipation of her kiss made the air crackle. </p><p>Time slowed down. </p><p>Her legs wrapped around him, a foot pressing into his ass, and he slanted towards her. His body was acting of its own accord, with her encouragement. Blood rushed down, dizziness remained, wetting his lips. She was still too far away, so he drew her closer until their lips finally brushed together. </p><p>Just as sweet and chaste as the first time, but agonizingly slow. She opened up for him and he could taste champagne, mint, and salt on his tongue. Tilting his head, he honed in on how her silky warmth collided with his. She pulled her skirt higher, exposing him to her skin, and he dug his fingers into her. Her arms twisted around his neck, tightening in his hair, her breath deepening on his lips. </p><p>He bit back a groan, and sucked on her bottom lip, ready to test out how well the color would last, or if it would transfer to him. Natasha’s red marks. God, the thought. He needed to breathe, not willingly give such an unspoken part of himself to her. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t even if he wanted to. She had him locked between her legs, no space between them, her heat overpowering, demanding his in return. </p><p>He nuzzled closer, wet lips finding its way along the side of her neck, marking her instead. She breathed the sweetest moan against his ear, and any rational thought he had left the door. “Natasha,” he still tried. </p><p>“Ssh. Don’t stop.” He really didn’t want to. </p><p>His hand crawled down her shoulder, caressing her collarbone, exploring Natasha’s body in a way he never had before. She felt brand new. Shapely, responsive, and strong. Not just like his trusted partner or his friend, but like a woman who—“Oh, God. I’m <em> so </em> sorry.” </p><p>Steve froze. Eileen Penner stood in the opened doorway, her face pale. He sucked in his breath, trying to calm down his body, and kept his back to the rogue agent. He buckled his belt and buttoned his vest with his head down, so she wouldn’t see his face in the mirror either. </p><p>Natasha laughed nervously, climbed down the sink and draped the fabric around her figure, a flustered expression taking hold of her. “No, that’s on us. We didn’t think anyone would come to this one.” He completely bought her performance. Hell, he got carried away. Steve scowled to himself and trudged to the door, desire and doubt twirling together in the pit of his stomach, while the target moved out of his way, towards the stalls like Natasha had predicted. </p><p>As soon as his position was secure, Natasha pursued Penner. “Wait. Hello. Yes, you. Heard you’re selling the list. Where is it?” </p><p>“Excuse me?” She moved her purse away from Natasha, then actually looked at her face. “You’re—<em>fuck</em>.” She glanced at the door, then took a step back. When Natasha trod forward, Penner swung at her. Natasha evaded the punch with her arm, grappled hers, and contorted her legs around Eileen’s neck until she keeled over to the ground. Pinned down. Efficient, and deadly if Natasha wanted to be.</p><p>“Nat.” Steve threw a tranquilizer injection in the shape of a lipstick her way, carried discreetly in his pocket, another in her purse. She caught it and stabbed Penner in her side. She went out a few seconds later. </p><p>While Steve waited by the door, to ensure no unwanted visitors would walk in, Natasha searched the body. No document, and nothing valuable in her purse. Except for a black card. Minutes later, Sam wheeled in a service trolley with dirty plates and bowls on top. A white sheet covered everything underneath, which was where they positioned Penner. </p><p>“She'll wake up with muscle pain,” Sam said, and examined the black card. </p><p>Natasha shrugged. “That’ll be the least of her problems.” </p><p>“I think this is a key card to open the lockers in the meeting room.” Sam flipped the card in his hand. </p><p>“Is there security?”</p><p>“Two guards.”</p><p>“Good to have you around, Sam,” Natasha said, and took the card. “Steve, let’s go.” </p><p>Sam leaned on the service trolley. “I’ll just wheel her out then.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Five months since she’d last seen Steve, but also since she’d been an active operative. Even a simple one like this search and seizure brought back some normalcy. The thrill of secrecy. The slow build of anticipation as she observed the target, gathered intel on their behavior or abilities, then utilized that information against them during their capture. It was a sport, almost. Muscles that needed continued strengthening to keep her sated and healthy. She understood the importance of having solid cover identities, even outside of active operations, because it provided her with a safe haven and a built-in life. Establishing that life, however, required diligent work. More and more, Natasha realized that what she wanted most was agency. The option to pick her line of work, whether that meant a covert op, hunting down HYDRA, or saving the world as an Avenger. </p><p>Right now, she was choosing to stun the security guards in the meeting room with the long-range electroshock projectile shotgun instead of seduction or bodily leverage. Would that have been more fun? Probably. Certainly required more effort. But Natasha had so much adrenaline coursing through her body, and a different outlet in mind. </p><p>“I thought you were going to use your words?” Steve stepped past the unconscious bodies of the guards, one face front on the desk, the other on the ground, and mirrored her position, staring at the lockers.</p><p>She raised her shoulder. “I changed my mind.” </p><p>There was a card scanner that required a password. She crossed her arms, stared at the scanner, and tried to decipher the short and long taps in her head. Nine. Three. Five. Nine. That had to be it. She scanned the card and entered the sequence. A locker on the left lit up. Bingo. </p><p>Inside, there was a USB. The document, she presumed. No actual guarantee, but she covered all her bases, with the target apprehended and the only thing of value obtained, she was ready for their exit strategy. </p><p>“How did you know that?” Steve asked. </p><p>“Morse code. Penner was tapping her index finger against her thigh, probably her way of remembering the sequence. First timer in the field, going rogue, the anxiety must’ve gotten to her. Her body gave her away.” </p><p>He nodded thoughtfully. “It was wise to observe, then.” </p><p>She nodded. It usually was. People tended to reveal more than they knew. “Let’s head back. Nick is waiting.” Natasha stepped over the guard on the ground, and noticed the tear in the slit of her dress. Hm. Shame. She really liked that dress. </p><p>Back at the Ritz-Carlton, Nick and Sam were waiting for them. Their target was nowhere in sight. Best left behind in the cage inside the van. Natasha handed Nick the USB, and he checked it on his laptop. A series of scribbles, scrambled through a cypher. The CIA would either need a cryptanalyst to decipher the document, or through Penner. Either way, not their problem. </p><p>Sam pointed at the screen. “It’s unreadable.” </p><p>“Penner took precautions,” Nick said. “The CIA will get the rest out of her.” </p><p>“You’ll just be handing her over? You don’t even know whether you really got what you needed.” Steve asked while he loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, navy jacket folded over the arm of a chair. </p><p>“Your job is done.” Nick closed the laptop. “Thank you.” </p><p>The four of them walked into the hallway, seeing Nick out. After he left, Sam stretched his arms. “Great. I’m ready to get out of this uniform and in my aromatic bath.” </p><p>“Have fun,” Natasha said in a sing-songy voice, which Sam returned as he left to his room. “You too…” </p><p>Steve put his hands in his pockets. “Doesn’t that bother you? You don’t really know what happens next.” </p><p>“Part of the job is compartmentalizing.” </p><p>“That’s how HYDRA got into SHIELD in the first place.” </p><p>“Yeah… how about a drink?” She nodded. “You’ve a fridge in your room, right?” </p><p>“Uh, yes, sure.” He raised an arm, gesturing to one of the four doors in the hallway. It led to another passageway that opened on to his spacious room for the night. A king-sized bed on the left, two sofas on the right. </p><p>She sat down on the sofa, watching Steve fix her a glass of vodka and himself some whiskey. He handed her the drink. “I never quite got the hang of vodka.” </p><p>“Because you’re soft.” Natasha threw the vodka back in one shot, icy and relaxing down her throat. “That’s a compliment.”</p><p>Steve chuckled, but the crease between his eyebrows indicated that he didn’t really understand. Fair enough. Natasha placed the empty glass on the table, and removed her heels, curling up her legs on his sofa. He studied the movement, his eyes only drawing up when she spoke again. “Vodka is a Russian stereotype. But it’s also dirt-cheap, neutral in flavor, and able to withstand our cold. Our very own painkiller. It smoothes the edges.” </p><p>“That’s sad.” </p><p>“That’s part of history.” Natasha rested her head on her hand. “Sad, I agree, but also undeniably real.” </p><p>Steve raised his glass of whiskey. “Well, to history.” </p><p>“And to our present,” she added, and he sipped with a small smile. </p><p>He scooted closer, his arm only inches away from her elbow on the head of the couch. “How’ve you been, Nat, really? I know we never have enough time during our calls.” </p><p>“I’ve been good. My new cover is coming along nicely, though I do need to return tomorrow morning.” </p><p>“About that. You were going to tell me.” </p><p>“It’s not that important, Steve. Just a random person I kissed to get out of a situation,” Natasha said, and she wondered which thing he cared about most, what he really wanted to hear. The kiss. The person. The new identity. “And my cover is an account manager at an international company in Paris. They think I’m courting a potential new client.” </p><p>“I don’t know how you do it, how you keep it all apart.” </p><p>“You bury what’s true and real deep down inside. That’s my painkiller.” </p><p>“I’ve said it before, but it’s—”</p><p>“A tough way to live,” she repeated the words he told her after their first kiss, on their way to Camp Lehigh in New Jersey. His words had affected her then. She had felt seen, without disparagement, which made her <em> want </em> to be seen by him. “It’s not for everyone. It’s not what I intend to do forever, or for long.” </p><p>“What is it you want?” </p><p>“I’ll help sanitize HYDRA first, then I’ll return to the Avengers tower, if there’s room for me.” </p><p>“There is,” Steve said, his long lashes fluttering with affection. </p><p>“What about you?” </p><p>“Bucky… he’s still MIA. I don’t know. I’m losing hope I’ll find him.” </p><p>The Winter Soldier was a ghost, one she was never able to trace, dematerializing when she thought she came close. But he was Steve’s friend, so she offered kindness. “If anyone can…” </p><p>“Thanks, Nat.” He took another sip of whiskey, then placed the glass on the table, lost in thought for a moment. She remained quiet, waiting on him. “You didn’t really need us there. On the mission. Well, Sam was useful. I was just a decoy. But you could’ve done it without either of us.” </p><p>“I could’ve, but this was pretty fun too. You got to see a bit more of my old world.” Natasha pressed her lips together. “Besides, you were not a decoy. You were an essential part of the cover story.” </p><p>He slanted towards her, grinning. “Your boyfriend?”</p><p>“I thought we weren’t labeling it, Steve.” She stopped resting her head on her hand, and stretched her arm to nudge him. She kept her hand there, at the edge of his rolled up shirt and his skin. Bulging muscles always warm to her touch. </p><p>He nodded, as if she was being serious. “So, why’d you ask if I kissed someone else after you?”</p><p>She smiled then, and her tongue slid past the inside of her lips. “I just wondered if you got more practice.” </p><p>“Measuring my abilities again, huh?” Steve tilted his head back, lashes lowering to her mouth, summery blue eyes fixed on her. “And?”</p><p>“I’ve noticed definite improvement.” Natasha’s finger slid over the muscles in his arm, he followed the movement, and when he met her eyes again, she added, “But everyone needs practice, right?” </p><p>He swallowed. “Not you.”</p><p>“Even me.” Natasha pushed herself on her knees, and bent her figure towards him, capturing him on the couch with her lips. He opened up immediately, hands stirring, his warmth engulfing her, seeking more of her. The smokiness from the whiskey was still tangible on his tongue. Ready to pick up where they left off at the charity event, investigate his fervor, witness his surrender. Nerves tingled inside of her. She was no stranger to stress, nor did it ever get to her head, but in his case the fluttering in the pit of her stomach was refreshing. </p><p>She rotated her body, pushing him back against the sofa, and mounted him. So many sleepless nights flashed through her head, nights in which she evaluated what <em> this </em> side of Steve Rogers would look like. She brushed her fingers through his hair, just long enough for a solid grip, and gave a soft tug. His moan echoed on her lips. Tugging again, she kissed down his smooth jaw, teeth dragging over the pulse in his neck. Her chest flooded with heat. His heart was racing. She liked having that effect, especially on him. </p><p>He extracted himself from her hand, holding on to her wrist and waist, his eyes blown. Summery, but brewing up a storm. “Nat, wait, what are we doing?” </p><p>“What do you want to do?” </p><p>“<em>That </em> is better left unanswered.” </p><p>“I want you, Steve, we work.” </p><p>He blew out his breath, his voice deep, almost pained. “<em>Natasha</em>. Those are dangerous words.” </p><p>“You don’t want me?” She tilted her head. A redundant question, because the erection growing underneath her proved otherwise. But something made him stop. </p><p>“I do. I really do. That’s the problem.” He let go of her wrist, and she dropped it to his neck, stroking him there. Nothing sexual, solely encouraging him on. “I’m not sure I can commit to anything right now.” </p><p>“Who said anything about committing?” </p><p>“I mean—”</p><p>He was doubtful. She understood that it wasn’t about her. But whatever it was about needn’t interfere with what was happening. Not if she had anything to say about it. She stroked his cheek, and smiled. “Life is not a fairy tale, Steve. I’m not expecting some kind of happily ever after once we’ve had sex. You’re still searching for your friend, I’ve got my own unfinished business. After that, we’ll see. All I know at this moment is that I want to feel good.” She stared into his eyes, both her hands curling around his neck, fingers scratching up into his hair. “And <em> you </em> make me feel good.”</p><p>“Ah, fuck.” He pulled her on his lips, arms wrapping around her body, and she laughed into the kiss. “We’re not labeling it?”</p><p>“Something like that,” Natasha mumbled, and rolled her hips against him, eliciting a gratifying reaction from Steve. A delightful pain to inflict, the desperate hunger for release. His, and hers. Their kiss deepened, and she could feel him melting again, thick muscles softening under her touch. </p><p>The buttons of his shirt and vest came undone, tie thrown behind the couch. She leaned back on his lap, and examined his chest with her eyes. Hard, powerful muscles that bulged in all the right places. A flush had crept to his cheeks and down to his shoulders. His chest rose and fell irregularly. She smiled. One finger traveled down his chest, and she noted the changes in him. Her upbringing taught her control and restraint, and the result of its absence. Rather than offering instant stimulation, Natasha lingered. A faint touch. A soft peck. A slow roll. Nothing more. Steve groaned. His broad hands slid up her sides, and he dragged her back to him. She noted his impatience. No squirming or embarrassment like when she teased him. This side of him was arousing too. </p><p>His hungry mouth demanded more, planting hot kisses in her neck, hands seeking exposed skin. Her nipples stiffened against the fabric of her dress. His touches were so urgent that Natasha wanted to forget about control. A nibble behind her ear made her suck in her breath. “Do that again.” Steve complied, zoning in on that very spot, and bursts of heat spread to her chest and between her legs. To hell with control. She’d have to finalize her assessment of Steve later. </p><p>She stood up, her arms twisting around her back to unzip herself. She dropped the dress to the ground, only a thong on. Steve gulped. He was all hers to do with as she pleased, hers to possess. She tapped her foot against his. “Take it all off.” </p><p>Wide-eyed, hands flying to his buckle, Steve stood to rid himself of his layers. She shoved him back on the couch, removed her underwear, then sat back down. Their tongues entwined, and she felt his callused hands on her breasts. He was tentative at first, clearly not wanting to hurt her, solely focused on making her feel good. And she did, she felt so fucking good. Heady and wet, ready for more. First she let Steve have his way with his slippery mouth, licking, nibbling, soothing, while a hand went down to her legs, finding her nub, and searching for what would make her louder. He was evaluating her too. She laughed through her moan. </p><p>Her fingers wrapped around his dick, thick and present like the rest of him, pumping him a few times, swallowing all his groans. “Do you have a condom, Steve?” </p><p>“I, uh, fuck, I don’t,” he whimpered. </p><p>“Hold on.” Natasha searched through her purse. Not that she was planning on having sex tonight, but she was always prepared. She put the condom on his dick, and slowly sank down, taking him in inch by inch. </p><p>His head fell back on the sofa, slack jaw, lashes fluttering down to where their bodies connected. Fingers dug into her hips when she set the pace, one that would bring her to combustion. Deep, slow rolls that would be replaced by quick and hard thrusts. She kissed him deeply, their breaths mingling, her skin slapping against his. Pleasure jolted through her. He stretched her out so good, the sensations in her body domineered her mind.</p><p> From the looks of it, he wasn’t too far off either. His jaw was set, muscles hard. </p><p>“<em>Ahh</em>. If you keep at this, I will come already,” Steve breathed, throwing his head back with a pained groan. </p><p>Natasha slowed down, panting, and pressed the crease from his forehead. “What do you need?” </p><p>Steve held her ass, and stood up. She clasped her legs around his waist while he walked her to the bed, and pressed her body into the mattress. </p><p>Lying on top of her, his hips between her legs, Steve set a slower pace. He brushed her hair out of her face, and kissed her, consuming her until they needed air. Then, he nuzzled his face in her neck. She pushed her heels against his ass, pushing him deeper inside her.</p><p>“You’re so beautiful,” Steve whimpered. The words came out, and his whole body froze. Words that were nothing like the corny one-liners men threw at women to get them in bed. Not an observation, a fact, based on beauty standards either. He had whispered it like a confession, intimate revelations of his desire breathed into her hair, his secrets etched on her skin. </p><p>Everything tingled. Flutters in her stomach uncontrollable. “Don’t stop,” she said, stroking the back of his neck. </p><p>He nodded, and kept his head down, his mouth against her ear, breathing unworded confessions into her. Natasha put her hand between their bodies, and rubbed her fingers over her nub for extra stimulation. Within seconds, they found a rhythm together, one that made her writhe, unable to stop the unfamiliar sensation in her stomach from spreading to her chest. Natasha was so used to sex, so aware of all the different techniques that it could feel like a mechanized process. Often it was. Sex served its purpose, and it did in this case too. The purpose was to fuck the adrenaline away, to get a release. But this wasn’t just sex with a stranger or a target. It was sex with Steve Rogers. And he felt different, he made her feel different. </p><p>People said the weirdest things during sex, high on hormones. She could tell embarrassing stories for days. And yet, she couldn’t help it—how he made her feel, like she mattered to him, like he needed her. She already knew those things were true, but… to feel them, to have them imprinted on her body. </p><p>That was unexpected.</p><p>His thrusts came harder, arms pulling tight, fingers digging into her skin, pressing her deeper into the mattress. Faster. Harder. The less in control he was, the less in control she felt. So close. She snapped her hips up, so close to release. </p><p>“Don’t stop.” Her voice was hoarse, and pained. Heat spread everywhere, fumbled together with flutters. It was unbearable. She cried out. Neither of them lasted much longer after that, their bodies heaving, breathless, slick with sweat, coming hard into each other’s arms. A tight embrace and sweet, sweet release. </p><p>The adrenaline was gone, and all that there was left was quiet acceptance. </p><p>Natasha waited until his breathing was deep and calm, then she got out of his bed, and started dressing. </p><p>She heard the bed rustle. Steve, with disheveled hair by her hands, still looked every bit like America’s golden boy. “Where are you going?” </p><p>“I have to leave. Take care of unfinished business,” Natasha said, and picked up her purse and heels.  </p><p>He put on his boxer, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Ok, I, uh—”</p><p>“We’re good. Don’t think too hard, or the outside is gonna look like the fossil on the inside. Then what will I do with you?” </p><p>He chuckled, nodding to himself, and grabbed a sweatshirt from his suitcase. He enveloped her in it, to keep her warm. He had an effect on her too, she supposed. She felt warm all over. “Let me walk you out.” </p><p>“No, that’s okay.” </p><p>He gave her a kiss on the cheek instead, softness in both his eyes and smile. “I’ll miss you, Nat.” </p><p>She returned the gesture. The operation was a success, a favor to Nick, one she gladly granted, but there was a part of her that had wanted to show Steve around Moscow. Unravel and uncomplicate the relationship she had with her nations through his eyes. Even only a little. Another time. </p><p>“Yeah. Me too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The end. Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. </p><p>Check out my SteveNat one-shot <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/14357724"><i>Layers of Mystery</i></a> if you haven't yet and/or find me on <a href="https://existentialmalaises.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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